


to sink without untwining

by lzrd



Category: Hotline Miami (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Friends to Lovers, Hawaiian Conflict Era, M/M, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rimming, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:45:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6570319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lzrd/pseuds/lzrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a stolen moment in the shade</p>
            </blockquote>





	to sink without untwining

It's his own fault, really, for not paying attention to his pack of cigarettes more closely. He had smoked the last one not twenty minutes ago and upon realizing he'd run out the itch for another flared up faster than usual. Normally everyone guarded their creature comforts jealously but it has become apparent lately even to the others that he's been using them to stave off something darker than nicotine cravings, so when he jostles Barnes' arm with a searching look he only responds with a token 'fuck you', handing one over easily.

Putting the cigarette in his mouth Jacket motions for the zippo already in his squadmate's hand. He makes an effort to make catching the lighter sailing at his head look annoyingly easy, quirking the corner of his mouth up at Barnes' unimpressed attitude.

The smug expression slips off his face as it sparks a couple of times before sputtering out.

"Shit. Must be out of fluid." Barnes says as he snatches his zippo back and shrugs at Jacket's frustrated scowl.

Jacket can feel himself starting to get agitated and lopes off to find someone else with a light. He finds himself avoiding the Colonel, who has taken to adding a strange sort of weight to every interaction he has with the squad, doesn't know if he could handle the discomfiting look in his eye.

Not that Jacket was partial to eye contact these days anyways, afraid to see the reflection of a sharp beak there too.

He almost walks straight past Beard, hunched over an ammunition crate, sorting through it. He drops a hand onto his back and quickly regrets it as Beard reels back into a crouch, boot knife in hand.

Jacket goes still, keeping his distance until he relaxes, standing up and chuckling at himself, embarrassed. Rubbing a hand across his now flushed cheeks, Beard digs the other one into his pocket, fishing out a sucker. It clicks hollowly against the inside of Beard's molars as he shoves it into his mouth.

Jacket, for all his military training, zeroes in on the sound immediately, and tries not to fixate too much even as his eyes lock onto the stick dangling from his closest friend's parted lips.

"You startled me... heh," the damn candy clicks again as Beard speaks.

Jacket tears his eyes away, thinking about anything that isn't Beard's mouth. Like an enemy shifting in the grass; seawater rippling around his shins; the humid wind disheveling Beard's hair around his face, skimming his cheekbones and more recently, his jaw.

He's been growing it out, Jacket's noticed. It's in that awkward halfway phase where it puffs out near his ears, especially so in the humidity here, but it looks good on him, taking years off of his tired face. It's so bright in the sunlight that it makes it difficult for him to look at sometimes, for fear he'll reach out on impulse and bury his hands in its soft waves. He knows exactly how silk soft it is, having felt it brush across his face, arms, neck, before in close quarters, feather light, and almost cried from the wanting of it. He has dreams about it growing longer still, unspooling out over the coast, a burning copper path for him to walk and always find himself back home.

Beard clears his throat with an apologetic smile on his face as if he has anything to be sorry for. Was he staring? He was staring like a creep. And rubbing his collarbone nervously without realizing it? Fuck.

"Ah," he says, and for a moment Jacket thinks he's been caught out, but Beard only gestures lazily at the cig still in Jacket's mouth. "You need a light?"

Jacket nods, ducking down to his level as he produces one. He almost manages to succeed in navigating the awkward situation... until he makes the rookie mistake of idly flicking his eyes up, only to realize how the sun is blocked out by Beard's broad shoulders. At this angle, the warm light traces his neck and arms in gold and Jacket remembers suddenly why he'd been so fastidious about maintaining his personal space. Glancing back down to confirm his cigarette is lit, he backs up as casually as he can. The way he furiously rubs the back of his neck to chase away the tingling feeling is considerably less suave, and he snorts derisively at himself.

Beard's looking at him with the perplexed expression he'd been directing at him lately like he's trying to puzzle something out. His face smooths out into something resembling its regular placidity when their eyes meet and he motions over his shoulder at the barracks with the hand not dropping the lighter into his shirt pocket. They head off together and he tries not to be too obviously affected by the way their bare shoulders are brushing with each step.

The distance between them is eaten up even further when Beard turns and, catching his shoulder, pushes him behind the building into the shade of the tree line. The concrete is cool against his back, and Beard's peering at him like he's in the middle of a very important decision. When Beard opens his mouth to speak a little 'uh' comes out and he seems to remember the lollipop. He removes it from his mouth, gleaming with spit, and folds the wrapper back around it, tucking it carefully into his pocket.

He reaches out, telegraphing his movements, to pluck the cigarette from his lips. It's gone out anyways, and he flicks it into the underbrush. Jacket tracks its arc with his eyes, so when he looks back he's startled by how close Beard's face has gotten to his. There isn't any time to complain, the pressure of the warm chest pushing him further into the wall is glorious, and his head swims with it.

There's a pause as Beard allows him to adjust, breathing evenly, for his sake. Time seems suspended for a moment as Jacket drags his eyes down to meet his. For this to continue he needs to know. When they finally make eye contact, Jacket exhales in relief, the stress seeping out of him. Green, gorgeous, brilliant green without a flash of feathers to be seen. Jacket knows the same can't be said for himself, feels the protective curl of Beard's hands around his forearms when his searching gaze finds something. He prepares himself to pull away from the wall, but Beard seems more determined now.

He tilts his head up and his eyes slide shut. Waiting. Jacket tries not to let on about how choked up he is as he leans down as fast as he can without bruising his forehead. The first crush of their lips has him genuinely emotional, but Beard doesn't give him the chance to fall apart, clutching him tight with his burly arms. As they both surge into kissing with the force of a tour's worth of pent up tension, Jacket appreciates Beard's foresight to provide a wall for him. If asked, he'd deny that his legs had started wobbling, but Beard's tongue sliding across his teeth reminds him that he doesn't have to hide at all. He turns his attention instead to reciprocating with ardor, tilting his head to make up for the height difference, as Beard's hands rub soothingly at his stomach. He's reeling a little, skin drunk on the chapped lips sliding against his. Those strong fingers skim down to slip under his waistband and still there, providing firm pressure but nothing else as Beard waits for him to give the go ahead.

As they break apart, breathing heavily, Jacket wonders what Beard means to happen next. Jacket knows now he's planned ahead, has had all the pieces of Beard's escalation in casual affection and sideways glances slotted together since the hand on his shoulder. He nods.

Beard wastes no time, getting his pants unzipped and down, and Jacket turned to face the wall. A boot nudges his feet apart and a hand on has mid back gently shoves him into leaning his arms up against the wall. Jacket can imagine how this is going to pan out, overlaying secretive fantasies saved during rare moments alone onto their position now. Until Beard kneels behind him.

Jacket exhales sharply at the implication of it, spreading his legs wider. Beard's hands slide up his corded legs and cup his ass, thumbs spreading his cheeks. In this position, he would have to strain to see him but the feeling of being bared so intimately has Jacket shoving his face into his arms and growling.

The first sweep of his beard against Jacket's sensitized skin makes him start. Beard's low chuckle makes him huff, and he rubs his bristles against his inner thigh in apology. His tactic is both to stop the tickling and to move his mouth up to take the first long lick at his hole. Jacket can't stop the groan that rolls up from his chest, but there's no laughter from his lover now. He's too focused on the task at hand, laving his tongue in a wide stripe from balls to the top of the split of his ass. Spit is starting to build up with every pass and the breath across his wet skin makes goosebumps rise on his legs. He's breathing heavily himself and he can't bring himself to be embarrassed about pushing his hips back into Beard's face.

He's seeking more contact than the cursory passes over the spot he wants attention on most, and Beard complies with a surprising fervor. Pushing his tongue into his hole seems to get Beard just as riled up as him, and he begins to work his way into him with urgency. As his mouth moves, his facial hair scrapes against Jackets electrified skin, and he shivers at the thought of the beard burn he'll have in the morning. Pleasure settles over him like a heavy blanket with Beard licking into him, and he leans harder on his arms.

His tongue is slipping in without any resistance now and he pets his hand across one cheek in a soothing manner. He draws his other hand up and slides a finger into his hole as casually as possible, undulating his tongue in tandem with the movement. Jacket moans at the new stimulus, thighs clenching. Sweat rolls down his back as he tries not to reach back and shove Beard's head against him, ending up with a hand tangled in his thick hair anyways. 

Beard's hand moves from its position stroking his ass up to skim over his lower back. It's a comfortably familiar gesture, and as Jacket relaxes  
another finger is introduced. There's a wet squelch as Beard withdraws his tongue. He continues to mouth at the surrounding skin, nuzzling his rough jaw against him to distract from the probing motions he's making. A jolt runs through him as Beard's talented fingers hit their mark, a further zing heading down his spine when he feels Beard's grin pressed to his lower back.

There isn't even a hand on his dick yet, and he's already got a deep pool of heat in his gut that only grows as Beard rubs against his prostate more. Beard leans up to catch a droplet of sweat that's pooled in the dimples of his lower back with his tongue as he fumbles with the hand that's not partially inside him, producing a bottle of lube. His forethought is admirable, but his coordination isn't as he pours it all over his hand and wrist, mumbling curses. He recovers quickly, sliding a third finger in without trouble, and jerking him off lazily in compensation.

Jacket squirms between Beard's hands, and tries to tilt his hips in a way that he hopes is inviting.

"Well don't you look pretty," he says, giving a playful lick to where Jacket's flesh is stretched around his fingers. Jacket's moans have taken on a desperate edge to show him how much he needs him. Beard presses a final kiss to his ass and withdraws his hand, his hair brushing all the way up his back as he stands. Jacket shivers at the combination of sensations, dimly aware he's drooling.

The sound of Beard trying to get his belt open with slick hands reaches him and Jacket reaches back to loop fingers in the waist of his slacks. He's turning to help until he realizes just how much of his weight is resting on his arm and reconsiders, pulling his shirt over his head one-handed instead. They've got time after all.

After another moment, Jacket hears a little triumphant "aha" and Beard is back, with skin to skin contact so good that it makes him slump backward into it. The only thing that could make this better is something to fill him, and Beard provides that easily, sliding home with a moan buried into Jacket's shoulder.

Jacket tries not to be impatient as Beard gives him the courtesy of an adjustment period, but even as he's biting his lip to hold back the sounds leaking out of his mouth, his hips are juddering back with enough force to knock Beard back an inch or so.

His neediness now more than apparent, Beard catches on, getting a firm grasp of his hip and thrusting in deep. A relieved sigh huffs against his neck as Beard picks a pace and settles into a rhythm with enviable ease, long slow thrusts that have them both groaning as the heat builds between them.

There's an exacting sort of focus to Beard's attentions that Jacket is fascinated by, a heavy intensity in the hands roaming his body that stands in stark contrast to his peaceful demeanor. He imagines that if he could chip away the smooth pale ceramic of Beard's public facade he'd find a fiercely churning, sparking engine beneath.

They both run hot, in different ways, he thinks.

The hand is back around his cock, so slick and tight that the heat in his gut bubbles up fast, and he's coming. His back bows sharply and Beard leans with him, insistently following his bucking hips and continuing to pump his hand, as he shoots his load for what feels like a small eternity. Beard is murmuring soothing sounds into his neck as he slumps, regaining his footing to start moving his hips again. It won't take much for him to draw the orgasm out of Beard he knows, especially if he clenches around him with every other thrust like he's doing.

His only warning is teeth sinking into his shoulder that muffles something strained that sounds like a laugh and a sob together and Beard is pulling out to come in thick stripes across Jacket's back.

They pull apart somewhat reluctantly, bodies grazing against each other as they pull up their pants. Beard produces a rag and wipes down his back for him. Jacket twists his shirt up and shoves it into his back pocket, flexing surreptitiously and glancing at Beard out of the corner of his eye to make sure he's appreciating the eyeful he's getting as he rearranges his own clothes. Beard's answering grin is so bright he almost trips over nothing.

When he crouches to scrounge around for the lost cigarette in the ferns, a hand settles onto his neck, stopping him. "Take a lollipop man, it's better for you." Jacket tilts his head up questioningly as Beard rifles through his pockets for another like the one already back in his mouth. "Huh, I think I ran out myself, been going through 'em pretty quick. Sorry, we can get you another ci--" Pulling the lollipop out of his slack mouth and popping it into his, Jacket grins up at him.

"Hm, suits you better anyway," Beard mutters sheepishly.

**Author's Note:**

> finally i can die
> 
> title's from [september 8 by pablo neruda](http://rsiken.tumblr.com/post/126837569847/september-8-by-pablo-neruda)
> 
> not betaed or anythin and i really want this out so if there's fuckups my bad


End file.
